


Tops and Tails

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: M.R. James' Number 13
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine if you'd taken the other room; imagine all the excitement you would have missed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tops and Tails

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think it's just me in this fandom. Unless someone else happened to blunder upon a ten-year-old adaptation of a somewhat obscure ghost story while looking for decent vampire movies on Hulu. No, it's just me? If gay erotica falls in the forest, and there's nobody there to hear it, does it still make a sound?  
> I'll leave these questions for the philosophers. I am not in any way connected to either the estate of M.R. James or the BBC, and this school is not in any way connected to either the estate of M.R. James or the BBC. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

It seemed absurd, considering the weight of what was discovered surrounding room number thirteen, but with the discovery and the sifting of its implications, came not further disquiet, but a peculiar kind of peace. The floorboards were nailed back in place, what they concealed left undisturbed, and life returned to something like normal. Though, of course, it had never really been normal before, so life had to seek out and learn normality. For his part, Anderson found his mood lifted. He was obliged to stay on longer, to finish his work, if only to attempt to find a way to reconcile what had happened with the scholarly milieu. His new accommodations were harder on his knees, but significantly easier on his nerves. Jenkins moved into a recently-vacated room in the same corridor, and Anderson was relieved to discover that his fears of disturbances in the night were unfounded. It seemed that all, not merely some of the noise was attributable to unnatural causes. Drink though he might, Jenkins was incapable of such debauches. About the limit of it was a soft humming as he retired to his room, the sound of which reached Anderson in his bed, and filled him with a sense of peaceful finality, sending him soon into a doze, and deeper sleep.  
Save for the fixtures of the season, they were alone, now, and thus found it natural to extend their acquaintance. Jenkins, now unburdened of his unwanted neighbor, was less prone to over-excitement and -indulgence, and Anderson fancied that he could now see the man as he truly was, free of the effects of nervous excess. They spent several enjoyable, if brief, evenings together at supper. After the meal, Anderson would retire to work a bit longer before bed, and Jenkins would go on to the lounge for his customary cigar and brandy. Then, to bed for Anderson, to lie in the dark now denuded of phantasms, to wait for the somniferous hum, coming up the stairs, and moving ever closer, before disappearing into the room opposite his.  
His work complete, or as good as, Anderson decided to abandon some of his customary reticence and spend the entire evening with Jenkins.  
“Edward. Please,” he said, taking a drink, “you must call me Edward. After what we've been through, we can hardly remain on such formal terms.”  
“All right,” replied Anderson, “Edward.” It was a common enough name, but the saying of it bore the sensation of pronouncing a recondite and antique word, unsaid by anyone for centuries. Anderson was its discoverer, the first to give it modern breath.  
“Good, good.” And Jenkins- Edward poured him a drink, which he accepted, and offered him a cigar, which he declined, taking a cigarette from his own case. This, Edward lit for him, Anderson inclining his head, placing his hand on Edward's to guide the flame. The cigarette ignited to satisfaction, Edward smiled, gave a gentle 'Ah', and shook out the match. He struck a fresh match, and lit his cigar, a look of great concentration wrapped up in his features.  
They spent a number of hours in conversation. Strangely, there were no gaps; just as one avenue closed, another one presented itself, clear and open. Edward was charming, and funny, and Anderson, freed by circumstance and drink from his earlier gloom, began to see why the visiting ladies had found such innocent enjoyment in his company. He was an easy fellow to like; he offered everything and accepted all in return. There was nothing, it seemed, that one could not tell him. And the openness that Anderson had taken for wheedling, opportunistic familiarity was simply a desire to make others at ease, to extend himself in any way he might be of service. Anderson couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed so freely, and he knew that it was only partially attributable to alcohol. While Edward re-filled his own glass several times, Anderson was careful to moderate his consumption. Alcohol might buffer the senses, but it also left one open to troubling suggestion, strange fancies in the night. Anderson had had enough of those.  
Thinking about it, now, gave Anderson a peculiar feeling. The sensation was one of needing to seek refuge, to retire to his room as he always did, though the hour for sleep was long over-due. Yet, this was coupled with a reluctance to leave Edward, both because, Anderson found, remembering the ghastly occurrences made him crave the society of others, and because he wished to linger in Edward's company.  
“I'm afraid it's a bit later than I'm used to,” he said, in answer to a question Edward hadn't asked.  
“Oh. Yes. Well. If you'd like to retire-”  
“Could we, perhaps, continue speaking in my room?”  
“I suppose you have a collection of prints you'd like to show me,” Edward said with an ironic smile.  
“No.” Anderson blinked. “Why on earth would you think that?”  
“Oh,” Edward waved his hand, “it was just a bad joke. But, yes, if you'd have me, I'd be grateful for the company.”  
As they went up the stairs, having to pause several times for the sake of Anderson's knees and Edward's balance, Edward continued: “It's not that I'm afraid, precisely. It's just- all this pondering of mortality and the unseen fills one with a queer sort of melancholy. It's the kind of feeling best suffered in the company of others, if you know what I mean.”  
“I do.”  
They were at the door of Anderson's room, which creaked peevishly as it opened. Anderson entered first, and lit the lamps. Edward put down his glass and bottle on one of the tables.  
“I'd imagined something like this,” Edward mused.  
“What's that?”  
“The condition of your room: books and papers neatly stowed; scholarly asceticism.”  
Anderson frowned. “I'm hardly an ascetic.”  
“No, no,” Edward said, filling his glass, “I didn't mean it as an insult. I simply meant that I'd imagined that your discipline extended to your modus vivendi.”  
“Oh. Yes. Well, clutter's bad for the organizational skills. It's easier to think when you know where everything is.”  
“You see,” Edward took a drink, “I'd always had it that the more cluttered the space, the more organized the mind.”  
Anderson chuckled. “Perhaps it's different in scholarship.”  
“Perhaps. So, I suppose you've written up an account of the goings-on here.”  
“I've made a few, er, notes, but I don't see how I could hope to publish an unexpurgated account of what has happened.”  
“That's true.”  
“It would hardly be well-recieved.”  
“Will you let me read your, your-”  
“Monograph,” Anderson supplied.  
“Yes. Will you let me read your monograph?”  
“When it's written, I suppose that I could send you a copy.”  
“I should like that.” Edward yawned. “Pardon me. I suppose that I should be going.”  
Anderson frowned. “Must you?”  
“Unless, of course, you really do have something you'd like me to look at.”  
“Well, no; no, I don't. It's just- I don't think I'd like to be alone. I think I'd feel much better if you were to stay with me.”  
“Like I did the other night.”  
“Not precisely like that.”  
“Ah.” Edward put down his glass. “Like this, then?” He laid his hand against Anderson's cheek, held it there, and then moved it down to his neck, fingers brushing the skin just under his collar.  
Anderson felt his breath catch in his throat. Immediately, his heart had begun to run at a gallop in his chest- surely, it must break free. It was a ridiculous thought, but he still put his hand over his heart, felt it pounding, and an answering beat in his fingertips. Edward placed his hand over Anderson's, breathed out gently, 'Shh', and began to untie Anderson's tie.  
“I should put out the lights.”  
“Yes, by all means.”  
He stood, and extinguished the lights, hesitated for a second, and sat back down next to Edward.  
“We don't have to do this,” Edward said, “I wouldn't dream of pushing you.”  
“No, no. I want to. I just- haven't very much experience in this particular arena of life.”  
“Ah.”  
“I'm afraid that I'm at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed, but I- I think-”  
“Yes.”  
“I don't know if such things are done, but- I think I should like to kiss you.”  
Edward laughed, but it wasn't a cruel laugh. “Yes, I think that would be all right.”  
He touched Edward's cheek, once, then again, turned his head, and kissed him. By now, Anderson was breathing rapidly, his pulse sounding in his temples, and he wondered if he weren't on the verge of some kind of nervous attack. He couldn't recall it having been like this before. Perhaps, it had been, but he'd simply forgotten. Perhaps, this was how it was supposed to be, how it felt for everyone. If this were so, why did anyone do it?  
Edward seemed cool enough. No, not exactly cool. His face was flushed- though if from this, or from drink, or both, Anderson couldn't guess- and he was making the most extraordinary sounds, little huffing sighs, deep and plaintive, as they kissed. Anderson wasn't entirely sure that the man might not be in pain. He almost asked, but then, Edward finally succeeded in undoing his tie, and began on the buttons of his shirt, and all of that was forgotten.  
He found himself divested of his clothes. It had happened both gradually and with startling alacrity, so he hadn't been entirely aware of the process until it was complete. Edward retained only his shirt and his socks, which Anderson found strangely electrifying. It was a pleasure, if nothing else, to slip his hands, chilled by the night air, up the back of Edward's shirt, to warm them on his skin.  
“That's very rude,” Edward muttered into his collarbone, “You're very inconsiderate.”  
“Perhaps you should reproach me.”  
“I should,” Edward said, lifting himself up onto his hands so that he loomed over Anderson. “I really should.”  
It was then that Edward put his head between Anderson's legs, which made him start and let out a little yelp; once the shock had worn off, it was both bizarre and exquisite. Of course, Anderson had known such things to be possible, that people did them, but he couldn't have imagined them ever being done to him. What an unexpected sensation it was, soft and wet and warm, as one would guess, but in combination, all of those things amounted to something else, altogether. Edward was humming out gentle exhalations, moving quickly and then slowly, changing pace unpredictably- though, a moment' s examination made it clear that he was adjusting himself to Anderson's own movements, the rhythm he was unconsciously creating. He ventured to touch Edward, to drop a hand down to his hair, which was as soft as velvet. The whole thing was making him feel unexpectedly tender; he wanted to touch Edward, anywhere and everywhere, to kiss him again.  
His spending was voluptuous, deep and warm, making him tremble and let out some rather absurd sounds. When he pulled Edward up and kissed him, he could taste himself.  
“I'm afraid that I can't do that,” Anderson gasped.  
“There's no need. You won't object, I hope, to being embraced while I accommodate myself.”  
“No. No. I don't think so.”  
“Good.”  
Edward shifted, hitched up his shirt around his waist, re-positioned himself so that their legs where interlaced.  
“Just-” Edward said, making another adjustment, “Just-” and then he moved experimentally, and finding that satisfactory, continued to move. They held onto each other, kissed and touched while Edward pushed himself further along. Anderson was pleased to find that though the primary effects were lost on him in his satiated state, the secondary effect, the raw and uncomplicated sensation, was enough to interest him, to make him move in such a way as to mirror Edward.  
“Ah,” breathed Edward, “That- please keep doing that.”  
“Yes.” Anderson stayed as he was, but moved his hands down to Edward's hips, knowing that he would contact bare skin, but still finding it pleasantly jarring.  
“Please,” Edward said again, seemingly not about anything in particular, moving a bit faster, now, until he turned his head toward Anderson's ear, exhaled deeply and roughly, shaking in his arms.  
“Oh,” said Anderson.  
Edward breathed out, raised himself up, touched Anderson's face. “I'll just get a handkerchief.”  
The touch of the air against his bare, damp skin was awful, but of course, he didn't dare cover himself yet. He watched Edward dab at himself with the handkerchief, obviously still a bit inebriated, to judge by his movements. Then, Edward returned, did the same for Anderson. Anderson sighed, pulled the bedclothes over himself.  
“It is a chilly night,” Edward said as he got back into bed, “I trust you don't mind sharing your bed with me again.”  
Turning onto his side to face Edward, Anderson said, “No. No, I should like very much to share it with you.”  
Edward reached out his hand, and Anderson moved closer, let himself settle into the space left by Edward's body, and drift into the richest, darkest sleep he'd ever known.


End file.
